“Yes, but I’m going in the house now, and you can come, too, and dry off. Then we’ll figure out where you belong.”
The man reached down, extending his hand to Stanley. He was muscled as all-get-out, as though he’d trained for a war he professed was not going on.
Stanley was sure he was going to get yanked with some force, as the man was taller than he, and broad through the shoulders. Instead, the man took Stanley’s forearm in a firm grip and then gently pulled him to his feet.
For a moment, Stanley was close enough to see the little black specks in the man’s green eyes, and the line across his cheek where hisfive o’clock shadow ended. The curve of his smile. The white teeth that pressed against his lips.
Stanley turned his head because he’d kept his secret this long, though Isaac might have started figuring it out only days ago, days before he died—
“Hey, kid,” said the man as he let go. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help you.”
“I’m not a kid,” said Stanley rudely before he could stop himself. “I’m nineteen and I’ll be twenty next year, so stop calling me a kid.”
“Okay, okay,” said the man.
As Stanley moved out of reach of the man’s grip, he could see that the man thought Stanley was funny. This wasn’t surprising, as that was the reaction of many of the guys in the battalion, except for his buddies, and Lt. Billings, as the latter viewed everything with serious eyes.
“You can laugh all you want,” said Stanley. “I don’t care. I just want to get back to my battalion and continue my mission, and see if I can save some lives.”
“Which battalion did you say again?” asked the man, a quirky smile playing across his mouth as though he meant to humor Stanley.
“The 44th, or can’t you see my stripes? This badge?” Stanley pointed to his uniform, which would have told anybody with any sense where he belonged. “Lance corporal, second class gunner, in case you didn’t know.”
“Idoknow,” said the man, though his words came out more slowly. “You did say the 44thBattalion, right? And are we talking about the Battle of Ornes? That battalion was wiped out, and the village was too. I mean, there’s people living there now, but it’s more like a bedroom community—”
“What do you mean, wiped out? All of them,allof them? Nobody was saved? How could youknowthat?” asked Stanley. He knew he was screaming, but couldn’t stop, a sense of panic rising in his chest so hard and fast that he thought his heart would stop.
“Because of the records,” said the man, somehow calm in the face of Stanley’s agitation. “In the museum in Ornes, where I’ve been doingthe research for my—don’t you see the crosses, don’t you see the memorial?”
“Yes, I see them,” said Stanley, though his voice warbled and his breath was coming in such short bursts that his vision was going black. Round circles began to block out the cloud-draped sunlight, and the only thing he could focus on was the man’s green eyes. “But I don’t understand—”
He was falling to the ground, and the wet grass was about to embrace him. If he could just stay low and catch his breath, slow his heart, he could figure out what was going on and get back to his battalion. He’d return without the code needed for retreat, but at least he’d be with them, his commander, his friends, with people he knew, when he died.
CHAPTER FOUR
The man caught him, one arm scooping around Stanley’s waist, the other holding the rifle at a distance so Stanley couldn’t grab it. Or maybe so Stanley wouldn’t collide with it, he couldn’t be sure.
Exhaustion pulled at him, and for a moment he was held against the man’s chest, which was so warm and broad, Stanley wanted to wrap his arms around it and press his cheek to it and fall asleep forever. Which, of course, given Stanley’s luck, wasn’t what happened. Instead, the man steadied Stanley on his feet, and turned him around so he could see all the white crosses, row on row. At the very far end, near where the grass sloped up in an echo of the top of a trench, was a large monument.
Stanley had seen it before, but now he had to really look at it. At the top of the monument was a white stone cross, and below the cross was a large bronze plaque. He couldn’t see the words, though he could see that they were faded, as though weather and time were trying to erase them.
“That’s the monument to the Battle of Ornes,” said the man. “There’s another one at the edge of where the village used to stand, an old metal sign saying what happened here. All of the soldiers werekilled, and their bodies buried beneath those crosses. Some soldiers were identified, and some were not. You have to understand the battle was almost a century ago, so wherever you belong, it’s not with them.”
“But I just came from there,” said Stanley, his mouth trembling, and he was so cold the only spot of warmth came from where the man was still gently holding him. “I was running and the mustard gas came down—”
“That’s what that smell on your uniform is,” said the man. “I thought it was, but couldn’t think why—”
The man stopped talking so abruptly that Stanley turned to face him. His mouth was tight, like Stanley was lying to him for the worst sort of reasons. Then he shook his head and tugged on Stanley’s arm.
“Listen,” said the man. “Let’s get you inside and out of those wet clothes. I’ll make some calls and see where it is you escaped from.”
“Can I have my rifle?” asked Stanley, though he wasn’t surprised when the man pulled it out of reach.
“No, you may not,” said the man. “But tell me your name, so I know what to tellles gendarmeswhen I talk to them.”
“You’re going to have them arrest me?” asked Stanley, his voice rising to a sharp point. “I haven’t done anything!”
“No, not arrest you,” said the man, shaking his head. “But I’m going to start with them, and see who else I need to talk to. Okay?”
